


Voices Carry

by heavvymetalqueen



Series: Talk Dirty to Me [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Backrubs, Exhibitionism, Fun in the signals room, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: If he hadn’t been up for the past sixteen hours, Kaz would swat him away. But he has.





	1. Chapter 1

The console buzzes, a wave of red washing over their screens.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” groans Kaz. “Not another sandstorm.”

Ocelot taps a few keys on his keyboard to send the message to Snake’s iDroid. “It’s the third this week.”

“Fourth. It’s like they follow him.”

The console blinks green. Snake has found shelter and will be waiting it out.

Kaz leans back into his chair. “ETA?”

Ocelot’s eyes scan the scrolling lines of text on his screen. “At least two hours.”

“Great.” He leans his head back against the backrest, undoes his already loosened tie. “Make us some coffee, will you?”

Ocelot gets up and leaves.

“Try not to burn it too much this time!” says Kaz to the fading jangle of spurs.

Ocelot comes back five minutes later with two steaming mugs. He places one next to Kaz’s hand on the desk. Then puts his free hand on the back of Kaz’s neck, and _squeezes_.

Kaz groans. It’s not a gentle squeeze, it’s the touch of somebody who knows exactly how much tension is knotted up into the base of his neck, gloved fingers digging deep into the sore muscle.

If he hadn’t been up for the past sixteen hours, Kaz would swat him away. But he has, so he lets his head drop forward, exposes the back of his head. He knows the collar of his shirt is probably lined dark with sweat and hair grease, but Ocelot has seen him in much, much worse conditions, hasn’t he?

Ocelot puts the other mug next to Kaz’s, and both his hands on Kaz’s shoulders. They’re warm and smell like coffee. His thumbs press hard enough to hurt but his palms are softer, his knuckles gently roll the smaller knots undone, loosening them.

“Christ I’m tired,” he sighs, to avoid moaning.

Ocelot doesn’t say anything, just keeps kneading his neck, his shoulders, the nape of his head. Kaz’s hair is absolutely filthy, but the long fingers in his scalp feel too good to leave room for shame. Ocelot’s wearing gloves, anyway.

He can feel the increasing heat of his body, even through the back of the chair. He’s inching closer, reacting to his pleased groans. Kaz lets his hand drop from the desk. It brushes the leather of Ocelot’s boot, once, twice, and then Ocelot is moving a little closer so that Kaz can rest his palm under the curve of his knee. He’s pressed into the back of the chair.

Kaz thumbs the dip of Ocelot’s kneecap just to hear him breathe a little deeper.

Ocelot’s fingers trail over the tip of his shoulder blade, dangerously close to where Kaz’s shoulder ends in aching, buzzing scars.

Kaz grips Ocelot’s knee a little harder. Not today.

Ocelot pulls his hand back onto his neck as if the silent question had never been asked in the first place.

The only sound is the quiet hum of their console. Their headsets are on the desk, useless until the red wave still passing across their screens is between them and the little green dot.

He’s fine. He’s probably smoking that cigar of his in some dumpster. They have all the time in the world.

Kaz hooks his hand around the back of Ocelot’s knee, pulls. Ocelot comes around without a single ounce of resistance, their legs knocking together. He makes to sit on the desk, but Kaz doesn’t let go of his knee until he’s pulled him to sit on his leg. The bad one. He doesn’t need circulation in it, anyway. Ocelot still digs the toes of his boots into the chair’s wheels for leverage, his back against the desk, forearms on Kaz’s shoulders.

“You’re letting me get away with a lot today,” he says, completely failing to sound casual and conversational because Kaz can see the pink flush in the opened collar of his shirt, his spit-wet lips, his pupils large and hungry.

Kaz doesn’t reply. He runs his palm up Ocelot’s thigh, brushing just short of the curve of his ass. Ocelot squirms imperceptibly, strong muscles clenching against his broken nerve ends. Kaz rests his hand on his hip, then on the small of his back. Presses a little. Ocelot’s shirt is damp and warm with sweat pooled in the curve of it.

Ocelot leans in, tucks his sharp nose under Kaz’s ear. His lips are wet and soft on his pulse. “Miller?” he breathes into his skin.

“No,” says Kaz quietly, blowing warm breath into Ocelot’s ear.

“Kaz,” says Ocelot, his voice deep and needy.

“That’s better.”

Kaz runs his lips along the soft-bearded line of Ocelot’s jaw, just a flutter, just to get him to turn around and kiss him. He tastes like antacids and coffee but his lips are soft, his kiss slow and languid, his slender body warm and opening up for him....

The console buzzes. It takes Ocelot a full thirty seconds to reconnect to where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing, his eyes still dark and his mouth slack.

Kaz feels a smile pull at his lips. “That’s yours,” he says, nodding at the blinking red lead. “You should answer.”

“Yes,” croaks Ocelot, a little disjointedly.

Kaz grins. He does not let go of Ocelot’s waist.

Ocelot swallows thickly, then pushes the chair and both of them closer to his side of the desk, twisting uncomfortably to reach for his headset. He pulls it on haphazardly, hair sticking out from under it. The lead blinks green.

“Yes, Boss? Ah...well...”

Kaz lets go of Ocelot’s waist just for long enough to wrap the cord around his fist and pull. The muffled howl of the sandstorm comes through the speakers, as does Venom’s even breathing.

“Ocelot? You okay?” says Venom. His voice is thick and slow. He’s been smoking. Kaz knows it makes him relaxed, mellow, a little flirty sometimes.

And sometimes, he likes to hear their voices when he feels this way.

“Of course, Boss,” says Ocelot, removing his headset again, letting it drop to the floor. “As I was saying. Can you describe it to me?”

“It’s, um. About two inches. Very bright...yellow? Kinda green. Black stinger...”

“Ah,” says Ocelot, his voice admirably level despite Kaz’s lips pressed to his Adam’s apple. “That would be...a Deathstalker scorpion.”

“That’s not an encouraging name.”

“You didn’t get stung, right?”

“No, no. It’s across the room.”

Reassured Venom is not about to die, Kaz licks the sweat pooled in the hollow of Ocelot’s throat. He feels him swallow.

“Good. It’s not an aggressive species, so it won’t sting you if you leave it alone.”

Kaz kisses a trail down his tanned chest, soft barely-there brushes of lips around the V of silk of his shirt. Ocelot is not even trying to hide his small sighs.

“Can it kill me?”

“You are....big enough it shouldn’t be a problem, Boss.” It comes out huskier than Ocelot probably intended. Kaz’s hand is squeezing Ocelot’s hip, the small ridge of bone and muscle hard in his palm. “But you would be very sick, and hallucinate quite a bit.”

“Hmm. Alright.”

“I-In fact,” he rasps, losing a bit of balance, ending up straddling Kaz’s thigh. He’s hotter than the desert even through all their layers, damp and musky. His breath hitches and his voice trembles just a tiny bit. “Some people crush the stingers and smoke them. I hear the high is quite potent.”

“Really.”

“Don’t even _think_ about it.”

Kaz kneads Ocelot’s thigh. Ocelot’s hands find purchase in his neck, his scalp, pulls his head up, kisses him with a muffled groan, open mouthed and wet.

“I will be careful,” chuckles Venom, who can’t possibly _not_ be hearing this through the open mic. “Thank you, Ocelot.”

“Anytime, Boss,” he breathes, but he’s staring into Kaz’s eyes, thumbing the shell of his ear, squirming in his lap.

The howl of the wind dies down and Ocelot launches himself at his mouth. The chair wobbles, creaks dangerously, and then topples back with both of them in it.

“You can be _so_ incredibly unprofessional, Commander,” says Ocelot, but his eyes are laughing just like Kaz’s, and his body is _aching_ for Kaz’s touch, and they both know this.

“Should I stop?”

“No, I think I’ll allow it this time.” He kisses him again, full body and eager, hands under Kaz’s sweaty shirt, long legs straddling his waist....

They have plenty of time to pass, and plenty of great ideas on how to go about it.

On the floor and completely lost into each other, neither notices the mic lead still blinking green for a long, long time.


	2. art!

Art by the amazing Trystin! ([@ex_sempai](https://twitter.com/ex_sempai))

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, V is 100% listening. In case you were wondering ;)


End file.
